


To The Moon And Back

by Sweet_Enerliel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Pining, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweet_Enerliel/pseuds/Sweet_Enerliel
Summary: Castiel has a plan for his life. He has the means and the motivation to achieve his dreams. As a young college student, he hasn't given much thought to a partner to share that life with. But life doesn't necessarily know or care what it is you want, and Castiel learns this the hard way.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. The End

I read somewhere that your heart uses enough energy in your life time to fuel a semi-truck twice the distance the earth is from the moon. Maybe that’s where that expression comes from: I love you to the moon and back. It’s as if it means you literally love a person with every beat of your heart for your whole life, from the day you were born. 

To me, that seems a little fanciful at best, impossible at worst. It means you’re responsible for every moment of your life. Your devotion can’t falter for a single beat, because each one is promised to your destined loved one even before you’ve taken your first breath. Just the concept of a soul mate is preposterous. Strings of fate tying certain people together, the inevitability of it all… it doesn’t even sound desirable to me. The universe has decided that I would jive the best with a single person, and I have no say in it? What’s the point of anything if it’s all just decided by destiny; if we were always going to end up here? 

~~~

It was a fairly busy day at the butterfly garden. Friday’s were always busy because that’s when schools would take the kids out for field trips. The garden had a small apiary which produced just enough honey to sell at the gift shop. The bees were my specialty. It was a perfect, low-stress job for a student. When I wasn’t tending them or helping elsewhere in the garden, I gave talks about honey bees and honey production. I was giving one such presentation when I first saw him. 

“...And that’s when the bee comes back to the hive to tell all her friends about the plentiful bounty she’s found. Now, does anyone know how bees talk to each other?”

The audience of about fifteen second-graders looked to each other ponderously or just stared back at me with expectation. One girl raised her hand and tentatively answered “Don’t they buzz at each other?”

I smiled at her. “Not quite, but that’s a very common misunderstanding. The buzzing that bees make is just their wings flapping very fast. Does anyone else have an idea?” 

From the back of the small crowd, one of the chaperones unintentionally caught my attention. He was making a boy’s shoulders shake with stifled laughter by wiggling his fingers above his head.

“What about you sir?” I called a little more loudly. “Do you have any thoughts?”

The man immediately straightened up, like he’d been caught sneaking cookies. He was very handsome with a square jaw and broad shoulders. 

“Uh, not really, I was just saying it was probably telepathic signals with the, you know, antennae.”

The children all giggled. The man looked bashful. I smirked and said, “I’m afraid not, though that’s an interesting theory.” To bring everyone’s attention back to me, I twisted my wrists above my head like a flamenco dancer. “The answer is dancing! It’s called the Waggle Dance.” I shook my hips and the kids all began to laugh again. “It’s true! Let me show you.” 

I uncapped my dry erase marker and drew a bulbous shape on the whiteboard, like two grapes being pressed together with a squiggly line on the border they shared. “The worker that found the good flowers gets the attention of her sisters by vibrating. Then she begins her dance.” I went on to explain how the length of time the bee wiggles her thorax during each circuit indicates the distance of the flower and how the angle of the line in relation to the sun indicates the direction the bees should fly. It was nice to have an audience as attentive as this one. Every once in a while, I would look up and notice with some surprise that the chaperone from before was gazing at me with an interest that went beyond the subject of discussion. I looked away quickly every time, but a flattered smile widened across my face regardless. 

“The precision with which the bees can pinpoint the location with these simple movements is remarkable, and one of the reasons I love honey bees so much.” I looked out at all the students and made sure to catch each of their eyes before I clapped my hands together and said, “Alright, who wants to try the Waggle Dance for themselves?”

Every kid raised their hands and yelled, “Me! Me!” I smiled at their enthusiasm. The chaperone in the back chuckled to himself and his eyes glimmered with something mysterious.

Five minutes later, the kids were being shuffled to the next attraction by the female chaperone after some truly impressive Waggle Dancing. The attractive man came up to me, hands in his pockets, charming smile front and center.

“You really like bees, huh?” The man said without preamble.

“Very much. I think they are quite amazing.” I said, with a coy head tilt.

“You’ve certainly convinced me,” he said. “Listen, I didn’t mean to be rude or anything earlier, I was just–”

“Oh don’t worry about it. I know you weren’t trying to be disrespectful. I just like to pick on the adults sometimes. Makes the kids feel more comfortable.”

“Ah. Hah, that’s good. I enjoyed your presentation. You really know how to talk to the kids. Not down to them.”

I flushed. “Thank you. I just try to remember how I wanted to be talked to when I was young.”

“Dean, let’s go!” The other chaperone, a middle-aged woman with spiky hair, called from the hallway that led to the beetles.

“Don’t let me keep you; I think you’re needed elsewhere,” I said.

“Yeah, hey,” the man, Dean, took a step away but leaned toward me like he didn’t want to go. “I know this is completely out of nowhere and not really a good time, but…” He trailed off, looking a little flustered.

“What is it?”

“I… Would you be interested in having dinner with me sometime?” 

The question was both a shock and totally expected. How could I not notice the way he had been looking at me? Ogling, really. I didn’t actually expect him to act on it though. I didn’t see any harm in accepting. He was attractive and seemed nice. He had to be a good guy if he was chaperoning kids in his free time. That or a pedophile. Okay, that’s not funny. 

“Sure, Dean. I’d like that.” I smiled at him and looked up at him confidently.

“Really? Huh! Awesome, I–”

“Dean, get the lead out! We gotta keep moving!”

“Be there in a sec!” Dean held up a hand but kept looking at Castiel. “I gotta go. How do I contact you?”

“I get off at five tomorrow. You free?”

“Yeah! I’ll come to get you at five then.”

“Make it five-thirty. I gotta close up and change clothes.” I pulled on the shoulder of the ugly green polo I wore with two fingers. 

Dean nodded. “Five-thirty. Great! Awesome. Yeah…” He rambled on as he backed away toward his disappearing group.

“Goodbye, Dean,” I waved.

“Oh! What’s your name?” He asked hurriedly.

“Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean’s expression was suddenly so soft. I got a disconcerting feeling from that look. It was far too gentle for a stranger looking for a hook-up. But before I had a chance to really examine it, Dean ran off to catch up, and then he was gone.

~~~

The bees had become quiet. It was going to rain. I checked all the exhibits for stragglers, turned off the lights, and locked the doors. The gift shop had a couple people left, but that wasn’t my responsibility. I went to the restroom with my backpack to change and came out with dark jeans that were only slightly tight around my thighs and backside. I decided on a nice button-down since I didn’t know where we would be going. It would be nice enough for anywhere I was interested in going at least.

I checked my watch. Exactly five-thirty. I stepped outside into the cool air, leather jacket on my arm, and waited for Dean to show. 

The wind began to pick up and I grimaced as I patted my unruly hair down. Oh well. It wasn’t like it was ever cooperative anyway. Ten minutes passed and Dean still hadn’t come. I set down my bag and put on the black riding coat. Another fifteen minutes and still nothing. The gift shop attendant had done the final lock-up and gave me a farewell nod, before leaving me alone. The first drop tapped onto the shoulder of my jacket, splatting right into my ear. The drops gradually increased in number and volume, until I was forced to hunch against the side of the building to avoid the worst of the downpour. After an hour I was done waiting. If Dean wasn’t that interested, that was fine. It wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t one to stick around long anyway, and Dean had seemed a little too happy about what would most likely be a one night stand at worst, friends with benefits at best.

I hefted my backpack over my shoulder and walked bitterly over to my bike. The helmet smooshed my soaking hair to my scalp uncomfortably. I stared at the sparkly blue gas tank shimmering in the rain and let the engine warm up for a few moments before I tore off into the gloom. I drove fast. The lights of the cars and the city reflected in the water, turning the world into a streaky lightspeed tunnel of stars. I could feel the water kicking up from my rear wheel and hitting my back. I was going to be a mess when I got home. I didn’t care. 

This wasn’t the first time I had been stood up. I mean, it never felt good, but why was this time getting to me? Dean was hot, sure, but I’d been with plenty of hot guys. He wasn’t that exceptional. I don’t know anything else about this guy, so there should be no reason to be so disappointed.

 _Disappointed_. That’s what I’m feeling. Disappointed and angry. It would have been nice to have a little heads up, at least. It’s only common courtesy. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and hit the gas through an intersection.

The tumult of rain splashing down around me was broken by the blare of a car horn. My misty vision sharpened for an instant before a shredding pain tore through my right leg and side as the world spun sideways. 

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even tell if I should be moving. The world was dull and blurred around me. My ears rang. I couldn’t make sense of anything. There was white light shining from somewhere and the world looked like it was zooming past me. It was like I was still traveling through space but gravity was in the wrong place. I shut my eyes against it, nausea rising in me. Then all of a sudden I noticed the pain. I might have screamed. I wanted to scream. My leg felt like it was on fire. My whole body felt like it had been used in a game of hacky sack by a group of muay thai boxers. I tried to move my arm just to see if I could and a thousand knives flayed my nerves.

A voice nearby shouted. My eyes opened blearily when the light was blocked by a dark figure. The voice shouted some more, but I wasn’t paying attention. There was too much noise, too much pain. My heart beat so fast even that hurt. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs and I could feel my mind giving up trying to organize the chaos. The world got one shade lighter as my visor was lifted away and faintly the voice said something I did comprehend. “Oh my god… Castiel?”

Finally, everything went mercifully black.

~~~

Light. There was only light. Then there was an abundance of pain, shortly followed by panic. Something was terribly wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what. Strange voices surrounded me, sounding stranger still to my addled mind for their calmness. I wouldn’t remember what they said, but at least it all faded away again just moments later. 

~~~

When I became conscious again, it was from the pain I think. Again. I was more lucid this time, even if it came slowly. My face was already twisted in discomfort. Making noise made me feel better for some reason, so I groaned, trying to will the pain away. It was fiery and sharp in my legs and stinging on my face and arms. Someone came over to me, a woman I think, and asked me if I was alright. I didn’t feel like answering such a stupid question, so I just groaned louder. She must have given me something because not long after that I was out again.

When I awakened for the third time, it was a little less awful. A few seconds after waking, I remembered I was in a hospital. It was the crinkly pillow and the smell that gave it away. I was still in pain, but I didn’t feel the need to writhe or whine about it anymore. At least not at the moment. It was daytime, but who knew when exactly. I wondered how long I had been sleeping and what happened. I couldn’t quite remember.

A quiet knock sounded at the door sometime later. “Mr. Novak?” A nurse entered with a clipboard, looking far too bright-eyed for my taste. “Ah, you’re awake! That’s wonderful. How do you feel?”

I looked at him expressionlessly, shrugging one shoulder. “Not great.”

“No, I expect not. You had quite the accident.”

“Accident?”

“I’m afraid so. Of the motor-vehicle variety.”

I sighed, remembering. It was raining badly. Serves me right for driving like that in a downpour. I’m such an idiot. _Damn_ that Dean. If he’d just showed up like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened. Or better yet, I wish he never asked me out in the first place. Asshole. I wonder if he even thought about me again. Well, good riddance. I hoped to never see his stupid face again. 

“It looks like you’ve stabilized well. Your vitals are good. Do you feel up to talking to the doctor?”

“Might as well,” I answered flatly. Best to get this over with and see what the damage was.

The nurse left with a cheery goodbye. The doctor came about ten minutes later.

“Ho-kay, Mr. Novak, good to see you’re with the living again.” The broad man said. “Name’s Sweet. Joshua Sweet. Nice to meet you.”

I shook the enormous hand he offered, nodding in greeting. “Your name is Dr...Sweet?”

“Sweet as tea,” He said like he’d said it a thousand times. He probably had.

“Okay, Dr. Sweet, how long have I been out? 

“Well, you had a bit of a concussion. The fact that we’re speaking right now is an excellent sign. You came in and out of consciousness for about thirty-six hours. You may experience some memory loss, mood swings, or difficulty with certain tasks. We’ll monitor this and have a better idea of the effects soon.”

I wasn’t that shocked. It felt like I’d been asleep for weeks based on how murky my body felt. At least my mind felt relatively sharp. “Okay, so what are we looking at here?”

“Well, the good news is, it could have been a lot worse. Most motorcycle accidents like yours don’t survive at all. Thankfully, you were wearing a helmet, and the car that hit you slowed down before impact. The primary bones of your right leg were all broken in at least one place, but the worst of it was the complex fracture in your femur. Pelvis was cracked in a couple of places, too. Left arm got some bad scrapes and a fracture of the distal humerus. Only needed a closed reduction for that one, no open surgery. You’ll have to stay in the cast for a while though. There was also a fracture in your left tibia from the landing, we suspect. That one won't require a cast. Luckily, the surgery on your right leg went very well and your injuries above the waist are mostly superficial. A little road rash and some scrapes, a few stitches."

“Well, looks like I’ll be stuck in a wheelchair for a while. That sucks.” 

“While we’re on the subject of wheelchairs, there’s… some bad news I need to inform you of.” Dr. Sweet’s demeanor went from optimistic to disturbingly sympathetic.

“What do you mean? You out of wheelchairs or something?” I said sarcastically, dreading whatever the doctor had to say that made him so somber.

“I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but you should be prepared for the worst. I’d like to take an MRI to see if there has been damage to the lumbar or sacral spinal cord. Our manual testing revealed a lack of response to stimuli in your lower extremities. Now, sometimes this is a temporary symptom of a trauma called spinal shock…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, my pulse rising. “What are you saying?”

The doctor sighed. “Castiel, I want you to move your toes for me.” Dr. Sweet said evenly. He lifted the blanket covering my feet. 

I wiggled my toes vigorously, determined to prove there was nothing wrong. “See? I’m fine.” 

“Can you feel this?” 

“Feel what?” 

Dr. Sweet grimaced and lowered the sheet so I could see.

There they were, all ten toes, severely bruised and completely stationary. Dr. Sweet had poked a sterile needle directly into my big toe. He removed it and patted the beading blood drop with a cotton ball. I hadn’t felt a thing.

All thought halted. I glared at my bruised feet, the only things not covered in a plaster cast, and willed them to _move_ already. “No. No, no, no, _NO_! This can’t be happening, this can’t be…”

“We won’t know for sure until we take the MRI, Castiel. I need you to stay calm.”

“No, shut up! This is… this is impossible! I can’t… I won’t… I…” 

It felt like water was filling my ears. Or maybe it was my blood. My heart sure seemed loud enough for it. My hearing became muffled and all I could do was frown insistently at my uncooperative feet, getting more and more desperate. My vision swam as I tried to move my leg. I didn’t care if it would hurt. It didn’t work anyway. I kept trying and trying, but my broken body failed me. It didn’t make any sense. I could feel it, the way my leg should move. If I closed my eyes I could have tricked myself into believing it. Yet there they lay, completely motionless. There was no denying what was right in front of my eyes. 

I remember tears filling my eyes and yelling. I remember anger and frustration and hopelessness. It was too much, too quickly. It was crushing down on me like an avalanche that just wouldn’t stop. Nurses and orderlies tried to help Dr. Sweet contain my outburst. After a while, I wore myself out. The staff left and I fell asleep. 

They took the MRI the next day. The look on Dr. Sweet’s face told me everything I needed to know about the results when he came to deliver them. I let him speak anyway and nodded once to indicate I understood. I was totally numb– at least in my heart. The physical pain was worse today. After so much trauma in the last few days, I think my brain just couldn’t handle any more emotion. I stared blankly at my sheet-covered, useless lap for a long time. They brought food at some point. I think I ate some. Definitely had some water. The afternoon brought a visitor.

“Oh my god, Castiel, you’re awake!” 

Gabriel barged in loudly, door slamming the wall behind it. An orderly leaned in through the doorway, apologizing and explaining that she tried to stop him. Gabriel just strode up to the side of the bed, ignoring her completely.

“It’s fine, he’s my brother,” I tried to placate her. She nodded and made sure I knew that he could be removed if I so desired. “You hear that Gabe? I can kick you out anytime I want, so you better behave.”

“Cas, be serious. You were in a fucking car wreck.”

“Don’t need to remind me,” I answered bitterly.

“Fuck, Cas.” Gabriel reached out to pet Castiel’s head affectionately, but Castiel turned away. He grimaced sadly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. What happened?”

“Nothing. It was raining. I was reckless.”

“I knew that bike was a bad idea.”

“What are you talking about? You have _two_ bikes. And _you_ encouraged me to get one.” Castiel scoffed.

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you to go ride it in a monsoon!”

“I shouldn’t have had to…” I grumbled under my breath.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Gabriel squared his shoulders and put his hands on his hips.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

Gabriel sighed. “Fine. I’m just so happy you’re okay.”

Fiery rage surged through my chest. I glared at him, mouth agape. “Okay? _Okay?_ How is this okay?!” I waved at my legs furiously. “I may never walk again! I’m barely twenty and my life is _over_.”

“Cas, your life is not over. You’re still alive. You got away lucky.”

“Yeah, well maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t.”

Gabriel scowled right back at me. “Don’t say that. Don’t _ever_ say that. What do you think that would do to mom and dad? To me? I know this is… I don’t even have a good word for it. It’s terrible–”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. I’ll never stand. I can’t feel anything. Zero. I’ll never be independent again. I can’t even take a shit on my own! I was going to see the world! My life was great. I was getting my degree–”

“What makes you think you can’t get your degree anymore? There’s nothing wrong with your head. Well, at least not permanently.”

“I wanted a degree so I could study wildlife. How am I supposed to do that with my ass in a chair?”

“I don’t know Cas–”

“Well, I do!” I shouted angrily. “I know, Gabriel. I know that I’m never going to get anything better than a tourist shot. If I can’t go the places no one else can go, I’ll never see the things no one else sees.”

Gabriel just gazed at me with pity. I had a feeling I would be getting that a lot from now on. I loathed it. I shook my head. “You know what the cherry on top is?” I paused, squinting with disdain. “I can’t even have sex anymore.” 

The room was silent for so long, I finally looked back at Gabriel, curious to see what he was thinking. Half his face was pinched in confused disgust. 

“...Seriously?” 

Inexplicably, I snorted. Of course, that’s what would finally capture Gabriel’s attention. I broke down in helpless hysterical giggles. Gabriel stared with concern but smirked a little. Tears of laughter spilled down my cheeks until suddenly they weren’t happy tears anymore. The laughter turned into wracking sobs, shaking me so hard I thought I might fall off the bed. I fell forward onto my hands and wept. Gabriel murmured soothingly, rubbing my back. It was embarrassing, crying so openly in front of my brother for the first time since I was a child, but I just couldn’t seem to get control of myself. I really was broken. I couldn’t even tell the difference between laughing and crying anymore.

“This is… a big change,” Gabriel said when I had quieted enough to hear him. “But I’m here for you, little brother. Mom and Dad, too. We’ll find a way, and if we can’t help you reach your old dreams, we’ll help you find new ones. We love you, and don’t ever think you’re less now than you ever were.”

A fresh wave of tears flowed on the swell of emotion from Gabriel’s words. It wasn’t self-pity, but gratefulness I felt now. I was thankful for the tears too because it meant I didn’t have to speak. I didn’t know what I would say if I could. I was still devastated and lost, but at least I wasn’t alone. 

Gabriel stayed with me for the rest of the day. I complained, but deep down I was glad he was there. He convinced me to call our parents before I went to bed. There were too many tears on both ends for my taste, but they promised to come and visit as soon as they could catch a flight. The next morning Gabriel started talking about the logistics of my condition. I had an incomplete spinal cord injury at the L1-L2 level, which is basically just above the highest point of my pelvis, according to Dr. Sweet. The good news was that I’d still have control of my core for the most part. It would make getting around a million times better than if I didn’t have that control. The bad news was… well a lot of things, but probably the grossest was the incontinence. 

“Just so we’re clear, you’re going to need someone to help you take a shit? Like not just get to the toilet, actually… get it out. Every day.”

I sighed at Gabriel’s attempt to contain his disgust. “Yes, Gabriel.”

“Right. Got it.” Gabriel’s feelings were written on his wrinkled forehead. 

“Trust me, no one is more put off by this than me.” I griped flatly.

“No, Cassie, it’s not a problem, just–” 

I waved him off, not wanting to hear his pity. My whole life was going to be built around this. The doctors wanted me to take a break from school to focus on recovery. The best news of all was that with a partial severance, there’s a chance some of my movement and sensation could come back. I didn’t want to stop school, but who knew if I’d even be able to pursue my original degree? Plus, the sooner I got to physical therapy, the more likely I was to recover something. The other big change was that I couldn’t live on my own anymore, not until the doctors were certain I was independent.

“Mom and Dad want me to move home,” I told Gabriel.

“Are you going to agree?” 

“I don’t want to live with Mom and Dad again. Can you imagine what they’d be like?”

Gabriel made a face, probably picturing our mother the same way I was, hovering and consoling and babying me day after day. Eugh. 

“You’re right. Plus they’re so far away. It would be harder for you to go back to school.”

Despite his doubts, Castiel still hoped he could return. He wasn’t ready to let go of his dream yet. 

“Hey! Why don’t you move in with me?” Gabriel exclaimed enthusiastically.

Now it’s my turn to make a face.

“Aw, come on! It won’t be so bad, it’ll be just like when we were kids!” 

“You mean when you would play horrible pranks on me and blame me for anything that we got caught doing?” I smirked.

“It’s not like I can tattle on you without mom and dad around. Besides, I’d never play a prank on you now!”

My heart sank. I could feel the expression on my face melt into a bland mask. Of course. My brother would never play a prank on a cripple.

“What?” Gabe frowned.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

It took a moment, but realization eventually dawned on him. “Cas, I didn’t mean–”

“I know.” I cut him off sharply. 

Gabriel looked sadly at his hands. It was so out of character to see him like that, it only made things worse. Everyone was going to censor themselves and tread carefully around me now. I wondered how long this feeling would invade every conversation. Would people always treat me like I was fragile, always afraid to offend?

“I’m going to… go get a coffee. I’ll be right back.” Gabriel stood and walked sullenly to the door. “Do you want anything while I’m out?”

“No.”

Gabriel nodded and left without another word. 

I hadn’t had much time alone since I woke up. After what Gabriel said, there was nothing to distract me from thinking about all the things I didn’t want to think about. Things about my future, which seemed more disappointing with every new thought. What if I accepted Gabriel’s offer to live with him? He has a career and a life; he can’t stay home and literally wipe my ass all day and make sure I don’t accidentally kill myself on the stairs. I refuse to allow him to abandon his work, he loves his job. 

I’d have to do research before I go anywhere to see if the place is wheelchair friendly. In fact, I’d have a hard time going anywhere that doesn’t have fucking ramps and door buttons. I would have to relearn how to navigate the entire world. Doors would be closed that were never a problem before. And the world was going to look at me and see a burden, an obstacle, or worse, an invalid. 

I never really considered myself a romantic. Commitment and long-term relationships were not very high on my priority list. Not with school and all my plans for travel and world exploration. But now, the thought seemed laughable; impossible even. Who would ever be interested in someone with this level of dysfunction? Nobody sees a guy in a wheelchair and thinks _damn, he’s the one for me._

I didn’t realize that was something I even wanted until now. 

I tipped my head back against the pillow I was propped up on with a frustrated exhale. A single tear slipped down my cheek. I was so goddamn sick of the tears. I couldn’t believe I had any left at this point. I squeezed my eyes shut, wiped away the moisture, then just stared at the ceiling. The view from my window wasn’t too bad. It overlooked a park that was quite lovely. But right now, “quite lovely” didn’t exactly appeal. 

I attempted to silence my mind by connecting the flecks on the ceiling tiles into shapes. Some time passed this way, and Gabriel had yet to return. I think we both needed a little space. A firm knock on the open door startled me from my space-out session. 

The last person I expected to see entered the room hesitantly. 

“Hi, Castiel, is this a good time?”

I stared. “Dean?"


	2. Adrift

Pop culture elevates love to the highest pedestal like it’s the peak of achievement. To be sure, if you can truly achieve an honest and pure love, the way it’s meant to be, that’s one hell of a feat. However, romance is not the only thing that’s worthwhile. Your soul can be ignited by other passions. 

Disney would have you believe that you can achieve anything if you just believe in yourself. Your dreams don’t have to be just dreams. And yet, what if fate is cruel enough to take those away too? What if all your plans, all your desires, are ripped away from you in one fleeting moment? There are some things that can’t be overcome with wishes alone. Some things can’t be overcome at all. It seems that nothing is sacred in this life. Nothing is safe.

~~~

I gaped in confusion, slightly annoyed but mostly astounded. I felt like I had slipped into a dream where the people I knew from the real world took on bizarre alternate roles. In a way, you could say Dean started all this, by being a no-show. I contained my irritation, knowing that it was unfair to blame Dean for the weather and my own careless driving. But still... “Dean? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I uh. I’m your physical therapist assistant,” he shrugged. He wore a sling on his left arm.

“My… what happened to the frowny guy from yesterday?”

Dean huffed a little laugh, still looking cautious. “You mean Dr. Gadreel? He’s your supervising physical therapist. Basically, he’s in charge of your case, but I do all the fun stuff.”

Fun would probably not be the first word I would use to describe physical therapy. “So, you’re like a nurse to his doctor?”

“Not exactly; I can do almost everything he can. He’s just got a doctorate and a longer resume.”

I didn’t really understand, but it wasn’t important. “Whatever. How in the world did  _ you _ end up being  _ my  _ therapist?” 

“Well that’s a bit of a story,” Dean admitted apprehensively.

“Just explain, please.” I was growing tired of everyone being so careful around me. I just wanted people to give it to me straight. 

Dean cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “I was actually the one who called the hospital when you were hit. You uh… still had a pulse, but there was a lot of blood. I had a bystander call 9-1-1 while I applied BLS and called for the ambulance directly. Faster that way.”

“Wow,” I breathed, astonished. “I guess I owe you my thanks.” 

Dean looked down and his posture closed off. “I wouldn’t thank me just yet. The reason I got to you so fast… the reason I was even there…” Dean looked up at the ceiling, suddenly becoming distraught. “I was the driver that hit you, Castiel.”

A hot wash of fury rushed over me. My hands began to shake and I clenched my teeth. I just lost my legs to the same guy who left me standing in the rain. “Get out.”

“Castiel, I–”

“Get. Out. NOW.” 

Dean took a step backward, hands up placatingly. “I’m so–”

“Save it! What the hell were you thinking? You think I want to be your patient after this?! You took away my legs! My  _ freedom _ ! Get the hell out of my room, and don’t let me see you again.” Dean was an idiot if he thought I was just going to forgive him.

Dean inhaled sharply like he wanted to say something, but held his breath as he retreated instead. His eyes were burdened with guilt as he left the room. Good. Let him feel just a sliver of the pain I feel. I fumed in the bed, shoulders cramping from the tension I held there. It was just one thing after another. At least I didn’t feel like crying anymore. I just felt like punching something. 

In fact, the more I thought about it, punching something seemed like an excellent idea. I tore the sheet away from my paralyzed appendages, scowling at them. I raised my good arm above my head, hovering there, just allowing the energy, the hate, to build. I slammed my fist into my thigh with all my might. I felt nothing of course, not from the leg. I hit it again. And again. I switched to the leg with a cast so I could punch something harder. I hit my legs over and over, cursing with every punch until my hand was throbbing. Finally I flopped back into the lumpy pillows, gasping and inspecting my shaking hand. I had split the skin on the edge of the cast and I was slowly bleeding. “Fuck,” I sighed. Someone was going to lecture me for that. 

Dr. Gadreel came by shortly after that, explaining that Dean had specifically asked to take on my case. God knows why. He apologized in that perpetually stoic way of his, saying that if he realized we had been involved in the same crash, he never would have allowed Dean to be assigned to me. I had calmed down enough by then to tell him that it was nothing to worry about, but I would appreciate a different therapist if possible. Dr. Gadreel had agreed and went on his way, thanking me for being understanding. He carried out my treatment for the day and promised to have someone new ready by tomorrow. He never did notice me hiding my bleeding hand in a wad of kleenex.

Gabriel returned in the late afternoon, looking contrite. I rubbed my temples, trying to prepare myself for whatever was coming now.

“Hey, Cas. Sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Gabe. Don’t worry about it.” I wasn’t in the mood to discuss what Gabriel said earlier or my discovery with Dean. I just wanted some peace for a while. Thankfully, he didn’t push the topic. He’d either moved on already, or like me, didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he could see I needed a break.

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

“I guess.” Gabriel went to inform the staff that I was ready for dinner. We spent the evening chatting quietly about meaningless stuff over my bland hospital meal. He stood to head home for the night around eight. 

“Mom and Dad should be getting in early tomorrow. I’ll probably go pick them up from the airport before coming here.”

“Okay.”

“And Cassie, my offer stands. Think about coming to live with me. I’d be happy to have you.”

I tried to smile a little at my caring older brother, and I wanted to mean it. But I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Thanks Gabe. I'll think about it."

“Promise?”

I scoffed, “Yes, you child, I promise. Go get some sleep.”

Gabriel smirked and tipped an imaginary hat, then he was off. Relieved to be alone again and full of pain-killers, I cleared my mind and fell asleep almost instantly. 

Early the next morning, Dr. Sweet came in to check on me.

“Mornin’, Castiel, how are you feeling today?” His deep, soothing voice suited the early hour. 

“Could be better.”

“Yes, I imagine so. How’s the pain? Sleeping okay?”

“Pain is a dull roar. Still rough sleeping. Can’t really get comfortable while being all spackled up, you know?”

“Yeah, I hear ya. Let’s take a look-see.”

Dr. Sweet lifted my sheet to inspect my feet and legs for circulation, skin breakdown, swelling, the usual. Both he and I were instantly drawn to the dark bruise on my left thigh.

“Castiel, where did this come from? This was not here yesterday.”

I was shocked to see how badly I had hurt myself. It was wide. Dark purple and blue in color. I guess when you can’t feel the damage, you can do a lot more of it. My mind scrambled to come up with an excuse. 

“It’s nothing Doc, just an accident.” Ugh, lame. Like me. Hah!

“What kind of accident?” He pressed sternly.

“My brother dropped… a book.”

“A book.” Dr. Sweet raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah. Corner landed right on my thigh.”

“Hmm.”

He reached for the contusion, gently prodding the edges. For some ridiculous reason, I decided it was a good idea to inspect it myself. I lifted my hand to the bruise. That was a mistake. He caught my hand and pulled it up to eye level. The healing cut and additional bruising gave me away. Dr. Sweet gave me a sympathetic look.

“I think I found your book.”

I looked away, biting my lip and tugging my hand out of his grasp. He let me go without a fight. 

“Castiel, I would like to recommend a psychologist to come and visit you in the next couple of days. We can just try it once and see how it goes. I was going to suggest this anyway, but it appears you might benefit from it sooner rather than later. Would you be open to something like that?”

Straight to the point. Well, at least he wasn’t going to try pussy-foot around it. “If you think it’s necessary.” I balled my fist and hid it out of sight, ashamed.

“Well, it’s that or I send you to the special care unit. Cameras everywhere so we can make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I don’t think you really need that kind of supervision, but you tell me.” 

I sighed. Dr. Sweet continued his examination without pressing the matter. Self-harm wasn’t really something I was worried about. I just got over-emotional, that’s all. But, who knows? Everything is different now. Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.

“I’ll do it,” I finally answered.

“Excellent. Don’t worry, Dr. Barnes is quite the character. Everyone loves her.”

I didn’t know what to make of that description. But it sounded like this doctor should be interesting, at least. 

My parents arrived just after I had breakfast. There was much fussing and kerfuffle. 

“Oh Castiel, my baby. I knew that bike was no good, didn’t I tell you, Michael?” Mother stroked my head as she bemoaned my brokenness.

“Yes you did, honey, but the boy’s got to live his life, you know. It’s well within his rights to drive a motorcycle if he wants to.”

“Yes, it was  _ then _ . And what kind of life will he live now?”

“Now, Hannah–”

It was like I wasn’t even there. “Mom, Dad, what’s done is done. I can’t ride my bike ever again anyway.”

“Oh baby, I didn’t mean it that way.” Of course, she didn’t, I thought. “Anyway Castiel, you must come to stay with us, we’d be happy to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of, Mom,” I rolled my eyes.

“I know you don’t sweetie, but… well the fact is, you need someone you can depend on now.”

“Castiel,” My father interjected, “There’s no harm in accepting help from your family, especially in times of great need. We have space and the means so why not take the offer?”

“My life is here, Dad, in Seattle. I like it here. I don’t want to go back to California. Besides, I’d have to transfer to a different school.”

My parents shared a loaded look. “Don’t you think you should take a break from school?” My mother asked, clearly trying not to upset me. 

“A break sure, but I’m not going to quit. I want to start up again next semester. I don’t want to move home just to come back in a few months.” 

Gabriel leaned forward, joining the conversation. “I told him he could stay with me.”

“But son, you’ve got a business to be running. Are you sure you have time to take on this much responsibility?” 

Gabriel ran a very successful event planning company. It was the highest-end party planning company in the Seattle area, and had connections all over the state and beyond. He became the best in the biz by the time he was thirty. Gabriel’s greatest strength always was connecting with people. That company was Gabriel’s pride and joy.

“Of course I have time. Castiel is not a burden.” 

“No, but you’re hardly ever home. How are you going to manage your business and make sure Castiel has everything he needs until he can be more autonomous?” Dad inquired.

“Easy! When I can’t be home, I’ll hire a caregiver. One of those… Axillary nurses or whatever.”

“Don’t you mean life auxiliary?” I corrected him blandly. 

“Yeah, that.”

Honestly, I couldn't decide which was worse; my mother babysitting me or a total stranger. Both were humiliating. I felt like I had no say in it either way. Whatever I chose, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

My parents hemmed and hawed about the arrangements with Gabriel for a while, finally concluding that Gabriel’s plan would be acceptable if it was what I wanted.

‘Want’ was a strong word, but “Yes, it is.” 

Gabriel grinned, always happy to help.

“Well then, I guess that settles it. But we won’t go home until you’re comfortable at Gabriel’s place,” Mom said.

“Fine.” There was nothing I could do to stop them, like it or not. I certainly wasn’t going to be the one toting in any moving boxes, after all.

With that conversation concluded, the worst was over for now. 

Two more weeks passed in the hospital. Everything went smoothly and my injuries were healing on schedule. I didn’t see Dean again for the rest of my stay.

My first appointment with Dr. Pamela Barnes was exactly what I expected.

“Castiel Novak, am I right?”

“That’s what it says on my chart,” I said sarcastically.

Dr. Barnes laughed, “That it does. I think we’re going to get along just fine.” 

She was a lovely woman, with curly brown hair pulled into a messy bun. Her outfit was professional, and yet eccentric, alluding to a free spirit. She sat in the chair next to my bed with perfect posture. 

“My name is Dr. Pamela Barnes. No need for formalities, though, just call me Pam. What would you like me to call you?”

“Castiel is fine.”

“Tell me about yourself, Castiel.” Dr. Barnes peered at me with speculative eyes.

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

I grimaced. “Aren’t you going to bring up the… What did Dr. Sweet tell you?”

“Does it matter?” 

I didn’t know. It probably shouldn’t. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Is it what you want to talk about?”

I grit my teeth. “Would you stop answering my questions with questions, please?”

Pam chuckled. “Sorry. Bad habit. I’m here for whatever you need. We’re just getting to know each other today. I’m just trying to get a feel for what’s important to you.”

“Important?”

“Yes. What do you like? What don’t you like? What are your goals and desires? Your job or career. Your family. Your feelings. Whatever you want.”

I sighed, frowning. I didn’t know what was important anymore. All the things I wanted before seem so out of reach now. Many of the things I loved are unattainable.

“Just because it might be harder to attain now, doesn’t mean you can’t still want something.” Dr. Barnes said.

I frowned deeper and looked her right in the eyes. Did I say that out loud?

Pam smirked, in a charming yet slightly irritating way. “Don’t worry Castiel, you’re not crazy, I’m just very good at reading people.”

“I’ll say,” I relaxed back into my pillows a little, still watching her warily.

“Truly, Castiel, whatever you want, that’s what you want. You don’t have to stop wanting it just because some things have changed. Things change all the time, and not just for you. Your transition is simply a little more dramatic.”

“Right…” I was still a little uncertain about how to answer her. 

“How about this; what did you care about before your accident?” 

“I… wanted to be a wildlife photographer and entomologist. I wanted to photograph and study exotic insects.”

“That’s amazing, Castiel.” 

“Yeah, but that’s never going to happen.” 

“You never know until you try. You just have to be a little more creative than most. They have some pretty amazing assistive devices out there, you know.”

“I’m just so frustrated. Everything got so much more complicated. I’ll have to be on a strict schedule that will be hard to work around, I’ll need extra help… what employer is going to want a wildlife photographer that needs all these special accommodations?”

“So don’t work for an employer. Freelance,” Pam suggested.

“But how will I get funding for my research?”

“Hah! That’s what we’re all asking, handsome.” Pam winked at me. “Honestly, Castiel, I don’t think that the funding problem will be any worse without two good legs. In fact, you might even be better off than most of us. Play that sympathy card for all it’s worth, that’s what I say.”

Maybe she was right. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction at the moment. I just wanted to be cranky. 

“Is there anything else that’s bothering you?” She prompted as a segue. 

“You mean other than my general freedom?”

“If you like.”

I thought about it. There was something that I hadn’t been able to talk about with anyone yet. I hated the thought that I was going to be a burden on my family.

“A lot of people find that they feel like a nuisance to the ones they love once they’ve become even just partially dependent.”

My jaw went slack and I squinted at her. “How do you keep doing that?”

Pamela threw her head back and laughed. “When you’ve been watching people and talking to folks as long as I have, you start to see patterns. I’m not always right, I’ll have you know.”

I shook my head and resigned myself to get used to it. “Well, as you said, I feel bad about putting this weight on my family. They want to help and I’m even moving in with my brother.”

“Do you think they truly mind?”

“Well… probably not.”

“Do you think they resent you for being in an accident?”

“No…”

“Good. You have it better than most when it comes to support.”

I tipped my head, feeling embarrassed for complaining when others have it so much worse.

“Stop it Castiel; don’t feel bad about your struggles. Everyone has their own problems, and that doesn’t make yours any less valid.”

I met Pamela’s eye again, knowing then that my silent plea for help would be heard. 

“Feel what you feel and don’t be ashamed. Just don’t let it stop you from moving forward.”

We talked a while more about my family and my goals. At the end of the session, Pamela finally brought up the self-harm that I had nearly forgotten about.

“After talking to you today, I don’t think you are in danger of hurting yourself again. Illness and pain can make us do things we would never do otherwise, especially in these early stages. However, I think our session was very productive today. Would you like to continue our visits, at least until you are discharged?”

I liked Pam. She was witty and insightful. I decided it couldn’t hurt, if for no other reason than to break up the tedium. I confirmed that I would like to continue seeing her. 

After ten days of wound care, physical therapy, and visits from Pam, I was finally set for discharge. Most cases like mine would be discharged to an inpatient rehab facility, so I felt pretty grateful that my family could afford a home health nurse. I was relieved at the prospect of finally getting some time to myself until I remembered it would still be a long time before I had true privacy. 

I was set up with a standard wheelchair with one-sided steering before I left. That was pretty nifty; I didn’t know they made that sort of thing. My parents and Gabriel enjoyed researching and talking about all the top-of-the-line wheelchairs they were going to get for me. Sports chairs, off-road chairs, motorized chairs, all the different modifications you could customize. To be honest, there was an impressive array, but I wasn’t all that interested. A chair would always be just a chair to me. 

There was an embarrassing amount of struggling to get me into the van. Oh yeah, we rented a van. I don’t consider myself a car guy but… this thing is hideous. Like a dusty mustard brick with wheels. It’s the first time I’ve thought wistfully of my bike since the accident. I supposed it was in a scrap heap, or maybe sitting in Gabriel’s garage in pieces. It took three people to get me into the van. The people assisting me assured us that I’d be able to get myself into the car independently in no time. I just had to wait for my arm to heal and build my strength. Only three more months. Yaaaay.

“Okay, kids, ready to go?” My mother asked from the passenger seat like we were leaving on a family vacation. I just continued to gaze out the window.

“Yeah Mom, we’ve got everything,” Gabriel answered exasperatedly. It was amazing how we both put up with Mom’s perpetual child vision, calling us kids when we’re in our twenties and thirties. 

With my brand new chair folded in the back, and everyone safely buckled, we started off to Gabriel’s home. Funnily enough, I didn’t feel scared riding in a vehicle again. I thought most people had an aversion to travel after being in an accident like mine. Maybe I’m just crazy. What I did feel was confined and awkward. I was so bulky with two hard casts, legs helter-skelter where they flopped around every time we turned. I found myself struggling to sit up in the seat. I felt like I would slip right onto the floor. It took so much energy just to stay upright. 

We finally made it, after forty excruciating minutes of chit-chat between my parents and occasionally Gabriel. The home assessment had come up lacking some critical safety features, but my parents insisted I should be home as soon as possible. As a result, there was a brand new ramp leading up to the front door. Remodelers stomped in and out of the house, their white trucks parked on the curb. 

“Gabe, you shouldn’t have to rebuild your whole damn house for this crap,” I said, smacking my armrest irritably as he wheeled me in. 

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s just a couple small renovations. And besides, this will be good for the next time I crash my bike.” 

“Gabriel, don’t even joke about that!” Mother complained, whacking him on the arm. 

“Sorry, Mom,” Gabriel smirked.

Mom huffed a frustrated  _ ooooh _ and let it go. Honestly, I felt like jokes were the easiest way to deal with this whole mess. 

Gabriel’s home was beautiful. Spacious, extravagant even, but not enormous. It had three bedrooms, one of which Gabriel actually turned into an office. The guest room would become my room for the foreseeable future. It was on the first floor, but the bathroom across the hall needed expanding to accommodate my wheelchair. Gabe informed me that the bathroom was usable, just didn’t have a door yet and a couple of trimmings to finish. Should be done in the next day or two.

“Well, here we are,” Mother said as if I’d never been in Gabriel’s guest room before. “We’ll get you settled in today and Dad will help you get the rest of your things tomorrow. Do you know what you want for dinner?” 

I shrugged my indifference. 

“Why don’t we do something light on the stomach? Like soup? Since you might still be sensitive from the drugs and all…” 

When no one gave a direct answer, Mom nodded to herself and escaped to the kitchen. She was probably feeling more shaken up than I was, knowing her. I suddenly felt a swell of appreciation for the amount of care she had for me and Gabriel. I had a good family.

“Well, is there anything you need right now, son?” Dad earnestly inquired.

“I’m good, thanks, Dad,” I said, dismissing him.

“I’ll go help your mother, then.”

Two down one to go.

“Well,” Gabriel sighed, “at least it’s not as bad as it could be.” 

“Pamela says it’s not good to compare your situation in relative terms. It’s exactly as good or bad as I make it.” I informed Gabriel dryly.

“Pamela, your psychologist? You can’t even compare yourself to people who are worse off than you?”

“Does that make  _ you _ feel better?” I asked, looking him firmly in the eye.

He thought about it for a few long moments. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

The corner of my lip turned up. “Yeah, me neither.” 

After another moment of silence, I turned my wheelchair to face the large bay window to the backyard. It really was a beautiful room. Maybe I could see bees in the garden from here. I wondered how long it would be until I could go take care of my bees at work; who was taking care of them in my place? I hoped it wasn’t Shelbie. She never gives a crap about anything.

Gabriel sighed again, dragging a plush chair from the corner of the room and plopping down next to me to look at the sunny grass. It was peaceful, watching the shadows of the clouds pass over, the breeze rustling the leaves and blades of grass.

“Cassie…”

Out of nowhere Gabe’s voice was so soft and choked like he was on the verge of tears. I frowned over at him to discover that he was indeed crying softly, hand cupped over his mouth. Eyes averted, he sobbed just once, brokenly.

“I… I’m so sorry.”

I reached out and held his shoulder firmly. “Gabriel, what the hell are you talking about? This was my own stupid fault.”

“No, I… never should have suggested you get a bike. I’m a bad influence. I knew they were dangerous, I just didn’t... What the  _ hell _ was I thinking?” 

“Gabe, that’s ridiculous. This had nothing to do with your influence. I loved riding my bike. If I was still able, I’d be back out there as soon as I was better.”

“If you never had that bike this wouldn’t have…” He took a shuddering breath and it became too much to continue.

“Look at me, Gabriel.” I squeezed his shoulder and waited for him to turn. When he did, his eyes were red, cheeks wet. I hated the sight, and it made tears spring to my own eyes. Gabriel never cried for anything. “Maybe I would have been fine if it wasn’t raining. Maybe if I wasn’t so distracted at the time, I wouldn’t have missed the red light. Maybe if it had been another driver they would have stopped sooner. Who the hell knows? This is not your fault. It’s in the past anyway. Doesn’t do any good to wish for impossible things now. Trust me.” 

Gabriel sniffed. “You’re being way too sensible about this. I’m the big brother. I’m supposed to take care of you.” He looked at me with wide, wet eyes like I held all the answers. Gabriel was right. For once, I felt like I was the one taking care of him. After feeling so helpless over the last few days, it actually felt pretty good.

I smiled genuinely for the first time in a while. “You do, Gabe. You always do.”

He chuckled wetly. Then, in very a Gabriel way, he threw himself at my good shoulder and hugged my neck tightly wailing, “Waaaaaah, my baby brother is so grown up nooooooow!” 

I protested shoving against him, cursing and laughing all the while. He finally relented, weakened with laughter, when I called him an  _ assbutt _ ; a classic insult I invented in our childhood. Perhaps not the most eloquent, but it always made Gabriel smile.

Over dinner, we discussed the next order of business. I needed a “personal assistant,” as my mother liked to call it. I’m sure any life auxiliary would be highly insulted by that comparison, but I chose to say nothing. If Gabriel could not be around, someone needed to be here until I was totally independent. I was skeptical that I would ever be independent again, but that was another matter. 

My parents would stay until a life auxiliary was hired. My caseworker informed us that they do not have a large network of life auxiliaries because most people can’t afford them, and there isn’t a high demand. Therefore, we decided to put out ads on all the appropriate professional websites. We would hold interviews in person for the candidates chosen. 

Five days later, we had six candidates; a surprising amount, in my opinion. We held interviews, and it became glaringly clear that this would be a more difficult hunt than we initially pictured. One candidate was a patronizing old woman whom I couldn’t stand. One was fresh out of training, which my parents would not be content with. One was disturbingly eager to discuss excrement and how willing he was to handle that part of my care. At that point, I was out. This was the most unappealing group of people; I couldn’t understand how they all ended up in the same field. I told my parents to bring me in when they found someone promising. We had another group of four a week later, and six more three days after that. Everyone was unsatisfactory until at last, my brother came to my room with a resume in hand.

“He’s strong, he’s smart, and he’s got all the necessary skills.”

“You sound like you’re describing someone you want to set me up with,” I said.

“Well this is a very serious relationship, isn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes and my wheels toward the door. Mom and Dad had called it a day early and gone out for a date night. This was the last candidate of the day. When we reached the living room, I came to an abrupt halt. There, standing stiffly and poking at a large decorative pot, was the man who stole my legs.

“Gabriel. What the hell is this?” I growled, anger flaring. Dean jumped and took on a chastised posture, clearly knowing how this would be received.

“Your new home health nurse! He’s got a background in physical therapy so he’ll be able to make sure you’re staying active and getting as much mobility as possible. And since he worked in a hospital, he’s got the know-how for the everyday needs and emergency care! Isn’t it great?”

“Gabriel, do you know who this is?” I hissed through my teeth.

“If you're asking whether I know he’s the one who hit you, then yes.” He said casually like it wasn’t the most infuriating sentence ever uttered.

I whipped my head around, jaw dropping. “You  _ know _ and you still want to  _ hire him? _ What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Castiel listen–” Dean finally pleaded, quietly.

“No, I’m not speaking to you! I’m surrounded by idiots! Was my shouting at the hospital not clear enough for you? Take a hint, asshole! I hate you!”

“Castiel, wait!” Gabriel called as I barrelled past him. I heard him saying something to Dean before he was running after me. The wheelchair had one benefit; I was pretty fast when I wanted to be. 

I turned so sharply at my doorway that I tipped onto one wheel. I slammed the door shut and rolled over to lock it. My heart pounded half from the shock of almost falling over and half from pure rage. My face was burning with it. 

Gabriel finally caught up and didn’t even bother knocking on the door. “Cassie, please, can we talk? Just let me explain.”

Like there was anything to explain. “Leave me alone Gabriel.”

“Come on, Cas, do you think I would be considering this if I didn’t have a good reason? This isn’t a joke, I swear.”

“Oh, I know it’s not a joke. ‘Cause it sure as hell isn’t funny.” 

“Do you really want to do this through the door?”

I didn’t answer him. If Gabriel was in the room, I’d probably ram into his shins until he was begging for mercy. Gabriel sighed loudly, and I could hear the  _ thump-husssh  _ of him sliding down the door to sit on the floor– something I passively realized I would never do again. I kept adding little things like that to an ever-growing mental list. 

“Fine,” Gabriel said, “Just stay there and listen. Dean told me who he was the moment he came in, and I instantly wanted him out of my house, but not before I could break his nose and scream at him.”

I held down a chuckle at that. Gabriel didn’t have to know I found his protectiveness endearing.

“Before I could do any of that, he… well he said some things that caught my attention. Then he explained that he felt terrible about what happened and wanted to make amends. I told him to fuck off and that I’d see him in court.”

“Good. So why is he still here?” 

“Yeah, well, he said that was fine. If that’s what I wanted…” Gabriel trailed off.

“And?” I demanded impatiently.

“Insurance is already covering the damages. Pressing charges won’t really do us any good. The truth is, nobody wants to go to court. You don’t, do you?”

“Yes!”

“No you don’t, you liar.”

Gabriel was right. But I wasn’t going to say as much.

“Anyway, what I really want is for you to have the best life possible. Dean promised he would get you there better and faster than anyone else. And,” Gabriel pauses for some sort of dramatic purpose, “he said he’d do it for half of what I was offering.”

I scoffed and shook my head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that you’re doing this so you can get a discount?”

“No! I’m doing this because… I don’t know, Cassie, I just have a good feeling about him. He’s a good guy, and it was an accident. Don’t you want to give him a second chance?”

“I don’t get a second chance. Why should he?” I spat under my breath.

“I don’t know, Cassie,” Gabriel answered slowly. “You could have died. You could have had a serious brain injury. Sure, it’s not perfect. But maybe this  _ is _ your second chance.”

My stubborn mind wasn’t ready to accept that. I remained silent.

“And besides, think about it this way: if you’re around him all the time, you could make his life hell.” Gabriel’s voice took on a sharp edge, the kind that always preceded some devious trickery.

That, on the other hand, was not a half-bad idea. I bet I could make him quit in a week. That would be entertaining.

“But,” Gabriel continued with a dramatic sigh, “I get it. I’m not going to force you to hang around this guy every day if it is going to make you more miserable. That’s the last thing I want.” Shuffling on the other side of the door indicated Gabriel was finally standing up again. “And if you really want to press charges, we can talk about that. I’ll go send him on his way. We’ll just have to wait for the next batch.”

I let him walk away, considering all my options. It had already been weeks now with no success finding a home health nurse that was suitable. Mom, Dad, and Gabriel were still stuck with me, unable to go back to work or back home because of all my physical needs throughout the day and transportation to various appointments all the time. If Dean was telling the truth, he’d probably break his back to help me. No one would put forth as much effort as someone who's got something to prove. And Gabriel was right. I could use this time to torture him with guilt. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

“Gabriel, wait!” I unlocked the door, rolled back to the living room, and found Gabriel ushering Dean out the door apologetically. “Wait, hold on!”

The two turned to face me, Dean looking defeated, Gabriel smirking triumphantly. Bastard.

“Alright. I changed my mind. I accept.” I said decisively.

“You accept?” Dean asked hesitantly.

“Yes. You’re hired.”

Dean gulped, then slowly began to smile, holding my eye with unwarranted joy. I am embarrassed to report, it was a very charming smile.

Gabriel looked between us several times, a grin spreading across his face too. “Wonderful! When can you start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to updates this fast! I'm not that speedy. But I had some backlogged, and was excited to release the next chapter. See you all again soon!


	3. Outlet

You know those boys who picked on the girls they liked in elementary school? Those kids never made sense to me...

~~~

I sat waiting in my chair Monday morning where Gabriel had left me experiencing an odd soup of feelings. This was the first day Dean would be working for us. Part of me had been plotting how I would make Dean’s job as difficult as possible. Part of me didn’t want to face him at all. I couldn’t tell whether I was anxious or excited about putting my plan into action. Another part of me just wanted to get through this day with as little brainpower and stress as possible. I felt ashamed that someone worse than a stranger was going to see me at my weakest and I would have to accept help from him. I felt claustrophobic from being confined to the chair and these ridiculous casts everywhere. It gave me an inexplicable itch that made me just want to  _ move _ – fall out of the chair, jump, anything. What I wouldn’t give to be able to jump. 

The knock on my door barely pulled me out of my head. I didn’t turn to acknowledge Gabriel, keeping my gaze firmly fixed on the much more interesting backyard scene. 

“What’s with that face, Cassie? You feelin’ okay?” Gabriel asked.

“From the waist down, I wouldn’t know one way or the other, would I?” I retorted.

“Hah! Touche. Well, your sexy nurse has arrived. I know you heard the doorbell. You gonna roll your ass out to greet him or just pout in here all day?”

“Why should I? I’m a poor useless patient who can’t do anything on his own. Isn’t it his job to do things for me?”

I watched Gabriel’s reflection cross its arms in the window. “No, Dean is here to make sure you don’t kill yourself and to whip you into shape. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Otherwise, I would have hired a babysitter. That would have been much cheaper and much hotter.”

“Not sure I’ll be doing much with the plaster fashion accessories all over my limbs.”

“Well regardless, come out and say hi. I want to be back to work by tomorrow, so I have to make sure you’re not going to murder him the first chance you get.”

I sighed and with some effort, I spun the wheelchair one-eighty. I passed my brother in the door, narrowly missing his toes. He followed close behind. 

“Are you going to be hovering the whole day?” I asked irritably.

“Oh no, I’ll just be within earshot. I’ll intervene if I hear any screaming, so you better behave yourself.” 

“Of course, because if there’s any screaming, it’ll definitely be my fault.”

“Definitely.”

I huffed derisively. We rounded the corner and Dean was standing with his hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. He had a bag at his side with a shoulder strap across his chest. He wore forest green scrubs with a white tee underneath. It would be a flattering color if it weren’t so flat and… everywhere. 

“Hey, Castiel. I look forward to working with you.” Dean said professionally.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” I replied sarcastically.

Gabriel smacked my shoulder and greeted Dean. “Welcome back, Dean. I don’t know why you’re so hell-bent on putting up with this mess,” Gabriel pointed a thumb at me, “but thanks for coming all the same.” 

“No, thank you for the opportunity,” Dean said with formal cheer.

The three of us stood in an uncomfortable triangle of tension for way too long, my brother grinning, Dean grimacing, and me frowning at my lap. 

“Ho-kay, well, I’ll leave you crazy kids to it. Remember, the door to my office is open, so no funny business.” Gabe gave me a pointed glance. I acknowledged him with a grunt. “Alright, then,” He said. With that, Gabriel went to his office upstairs. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Well, let’s talk about how this is going to go. If you have any suggestions or opinions along the way, don’t be afraid to speak up.”

When I didn’t respond beyond blinking at him, he took a seat on one of the puffy, brown leather armchairs. He pulled out a well-used, leather-bound planner from his satchel, procuring a pen from the loop on the inside. It had Dean’s initials stamped into the bottom corner.

“So here’s the big picture. You should get your casts off in two more weeks if all goes as planned. Moving is probably going to be pretty painful for a while after that, sorry to say. I’ll be here from 6 a.m. until 4 p.m. or until your brother gets back from work every weekday. I can be available on weekends with a little notice. Once you get your casts off, we can begin to advance your recovery. We’ll start with…”

Gabriel and the doctors had already been over the timeline with me, so I mostly spaced out while Dean talked. Then one word caught my attention.

“...I’m not gonna lie, it will be long and hard, but eventually, you should become completely independent.”

“Wait, independent? What do you mean, independent?”

“Uh… like, able to take care of yourself? Do stuff on your own?” Dean sounded like he was talking to an idiot, but trying not to sound that way.

“I don’t understand… I thought I would be at least partially dependent for the rest of my life.” I tried not to let the hope bubble up.

“What? Who told you that?”

“The doctors. Everyone.”

“Seriously? That can’t be right. Maybe they misspoke. I’ve seen people with SCI’s way higher than yours live alone and do just fine. I’d be surprised if you weren’t back on your own within the year.”

Had I been misunderstanding this whole time? Sure, I thought I’d get to a point where I’d be able to do more than just sit around all day, but I never thought I could be totally... free. If that was the case, this was excellent news. I struggled not to show my excitement. Even so, this did not change the fact that I had limitations, or how I felt about Dean. I would make his time here hell until he quit, then I could focus on getting better. And right now, Dean looked a little too proud of himself.

“Huh, so you’re telling me you know better than every doctor I’ve talked to?”

“No! I’m not saying that– I just… Maybe you heard wrong.”

“Oh, now it’s my fault? Well excuse me for misinterpreting, I may have been a little distracted at the time.”

“No, just…!” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “This is good news, right? Let’s just focus on that, shall we?”

“I’ll focus on whatever I want, thank you,” I asserted.

Dean sighed, “I suppose that’s your choice.” He looked sad. If that’s all it took to get to him, he would be out of here in no time. He continued, already sounding defeated. “Let’s get started I guess. Have you eaten today?”

And so, the day began.

Messing with Dean was a unique pleasure. I’d never been purposely mean to anyone before, so to just let loose on someone was cathartic in a way. I felt no guilt putting Dean through the wringer because in my mind he deserved it. It was justice. 

Dean made me breakfast. To my precise specifications:

“I’d like an egg white omelet with finely diced tomatoes, white onion, one-quarter teaspoon oregano, half-teaspoon chili powder, and salt. I like a lot of salt, got it? Garnish with fresh parsley and avocado. You’ll find everything you need in the fridge. Spice rack is next to the sink.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Castiel, you know I’m not some kind of chef, right? Do I look like the kind of guy who knows how to separate egg whites?”

“Well, what else do you expect me to do? You offered to make me breakfast, so do it. I’ll be in the dining room. Oh, and cranberry juice to drink.”

I left Dean in the kitchen, staring after me. I let him putter around the kitchen for a few minutes. When I heard eggs sizzling in the pan, I came back in.

“So you do know how to separate egg whites,” I observed smugly. “Where’s my cranberry juice?”

“Uh, sorry, I figured you wanted it all at the same time.”

“No, I want cranberry juice now. Can you get it for me? And don’t let the eggs burn.”

Dean  _ nearly _ frowned, eyebrows twitching, but managed to keep a straight face. He set down the spatula on the black marble counter, found the juice then started looking in the cabinets for a juice glass. 

“It’s the cabinet nearest the fridge,” I said.

He opened the cabinet, stood on his tiptoes, gently moved a stack of plates a few inches, but could not find the juice glasses. He turned back to me, looking confused.

“Oh! My mistake; I think they’re in the cabinet over the sink.”

Another cabinet searched, but no juice glasses. 

I theatrically hit my forehead with a smirk, “Right, they’re in the farthest cabinet down. I’m sure this time.”

Dean shook his head minutely and went to the cabinet. There were the glasses, eye-level, front and center.

“Thank you, Dean. You’re so helpful.” Dean handed me my juice and returned to the omelet. “Have you put in the salt yet?”

“Uh, no,” Dean said uncertainly.

“I want to make sure you put in enough. Do it now.”

Dean lifted the salt shaker and began to sprinkle, none too gently. 

“Good. More,” I said when he stopped. 

He raised an eyebrow and dusted a little more. I prompted him again, and a third time. “Perfect! I’ll be waiting.”

I gulped my juice and went out to await my breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, Dean brought out what looked like a perfect egg white omelet. 

“This looks great, Dean.” 

Dean smiled and placed the eggs in front of me, three slices of avocado fanned on top with a sprig of parsley. Too bad it would go to waste.

I took one bite and coughed it out. “What is this? Ugh, it’s too salty.”

“What?” Dean exclaimed, “You were watching me put the salt in. I did exactly what you told me!”

“Well, it’s disgusting. Do it over, I can’t eat this.” I shoved the plate away. 

Dean glared at me. I glared right back with a villainous smirk, not even bothering to hide it. Finally, he snatched the plate away, stomped his way to the kitchen, footsteps clacking on the polished slate flooring, and began chopping new vegetables. 

“Thank you, Dean, I truly appreciate it!” I shouted loftily. The chopping grew more violent and I grinned. 

****

After breakfast (which I admit, had been delicious when I didn’t force Dean to ruin it), Dean found me in the living area where I had settled in to read. He rubbed his hands together like he was about to eat a delicious meal. 

“Okay, Castiel, now it’s my time.”

I looked up at him, still holding my book. “What do you mean ‘your time?’”

“Therapy time! Exercise, mobility training, the works!” He said cheerfully.

“I just started a new chapter. We can do it later.”

“And later you’ll find another excuse. We’ve got to get something done each morning and each afternoon or you’ll be in recovery way longer than you should. No time like the present!” 

“Ugh. I should have known you were one of  _ those _ people.” I spat.

“You mean good-looking and charming as hell?” Dean winked.

“I mean optimistic.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I pointed a thumb to my chest and simply said, “Pessimist.”

Dean scoffed, “Okay grumpy, we’re doing this whether you’re happy about it or not. So, what is the most important thing you want to do by yourself? And don’t say walk.” Dean pointed an accusatory finger at me.

I sighed and gazed at the dark fireplace. I pondered for a moment and answered honestly. “Going to the restroom.”

“Perfect. Getting the worst out of the way, right off the bat. And you just ate, so this is the perfect time to practice.” 

Dean plucked the book out of my hands and laid it on the coffee table. I frowned but didn’t comment. He pushed me to the bathroom and we proceeded to have the most comfortable uncomfortable conversation I’ve ever had. 

I struggled to keep the shame from tinting my cheeks with every word. Dean, on the other hand, was professional and knowledgeable. He didn’t seem squeamish or flustered as we spoke. The less affected he appeared, the easier it was for me to relax. He explained the different methods to deal with the issue, and we decided keeping bathroom visits to a schedule was probably the simplest way. Then he described what I would have to do and how long it would take. Who knew anal stimulation could possibly be this un-sexy?

“Hey, don’t worry,” Dean said. “In a week this will all be normal, and it won’t feel weird at all.” He assured me. He must be reacting to the truly magnificent grimace I wore.

_ I don’t want this to be my normal. _ “Yeah, I know,” I said instead. From the look on Dean’s face, he could see what I really wanted to say. 

Dean gave me some privacy, checking in every once in a while. It was awkward with only one working arm, and my non-dominant one at that, but I got the job done. Dean only had to coach me through the door one time. I was surprised by how exhausted I was after just using the toilet, but it still felt like a step in the right direction. Dean helped me get dressed again and back into my chair. 

Dean wheeled me into my bedroom and suggested we do some passive range of motion on my un-casted leg while I got the pressure off my “booty,” as he put it. I almost cracked a grin at that. I don’t know if he was trying to refrain from swearing or if he was just trying to be cute. Dean held my leg with sure arms as I lay on my back. He moved it in a peculiar pattern, bending each joint down to the toes and rotating my hip all in one smooth motion. He traded his grip and shifted his weight on each repetition with the grace of a martial artist moving through stances. It was a humble kind of strength. I blushed as I thought that and looked away before he caught me. There was a reason, after all, that I agreed to go out with him just a few short weeks ago. When he finished he asked me to sit up so we could work on the strength of my left arm and wheelchair transfers.

By the time we were finished with all that it was lunchtime. I didn’t have the energy to pester Dean with inane requests this time, so I let him make us sandwiches without complaint. Gabriel came down and joined us, offering a hand in the kitchen with Dean. 

“You’ve already worn him out, I see,” Gabriel commented, setting my plate in front of me and taking his seat.

“Well, Castiel’s put in a lot of hard work,” Dean said smiling politely at Gabriel. 

“I’ll bet he has,” Gabriel replied, smirking.

“I’m right here, you know. I'm lame, not deaf,” I barked.

“Don’t I know it,” Gabriel leaned over and ruffled my hair. I shrunk away as much as I could. “The things I could do to mess with you if you were deaf.” Gabriel sighed wistfully.

“Not funny, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel laughed at my indignant tone. Dean just kept quiet, watching the exchange. He had a soft look in his eye.

“Do you have any siblings, Dean-o?” Gabriel asked, making conversation.

Dean shifted uneasily. “Yeah,” he said, “A little brother.” 

“You don’t say.” Gabriel’s eyebrows raised and he leaned across the table toward Dean. “Ain’t it the best? You’ve gotta have some good brotherly tales of torment, huh? What do you say?”

“Nah. Nothing really that interesting…” Dean deflected. 

“Aw, come on. Don’t hold out on us. This is your first day, we’re just trying to get to know you.” Gabriel pressed.

“Trust me, there’s not much to tell.” Dean lifted a few fingers from his sandwich in a half-gesture of placation. 

“I’ll tell you some stories about Cassie in return. One time when he–”

“Gabriel, stop it. Leave him alone.” Whatever story Gabriel was going to tell, it was none of Dean’s business. Plus, for some reason, it seemed like Dean’s past with his brother was something he didn’t want to be sharing. I may have wanted to annoy Dean, but I didn’t want to be cruel.

“Fine,” Gabriel pouted, “Party poopers, the both of you.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and was immediately distracted. “Damn Dean, what did you do to this sandwich? It’s so good!”

The conversation turned to safer topics then. We all enjoyed our impeccable sandwiches, courtesy of Dean, then went on our merry way. Dean cleaned up lunch while I read. We did the second PT session first thing, practicing pressure relief and bed mobility, as well as repeating the exercises from this morning. We spent the remainder of the afternoon in the backyard. I read while Dean worked on something with his laptop. He tried several times to begin a casual conversation, which I pointedly ignored or shut down. On the third try, Dean gave up, allowing me to enjoy the afternoon air in peace. 

Sometime later, Dean rose from his seat and said, “Well it’s four, so I’ll be headed out soon. Do you want to come back inside?” 

“I suppose.” I closed my book and started wheeling myself toward the back door. Dean followed closely beside me. I don’t know why he had to be right there. It’s not like I was going to just throw myself out of the chair. When we got inside, Dean quickened his stride toward the kitchen and came back out with a Tupperware.

“I’m borrowing this until tomorrow,” He said, lifting the container. “Don’t worry, I already asked Gabe if it was okay.” 

“I’m not worried about it.” The Tupperware contained fluffy egg whites, brown slices of oxidized avocado sitting on top. “What are you doing with that?” I asked in confusion.

“Oh, it’s just the omelet I made earlier. The salty one. Just didn’t want it to go to waste, you know?” Dean smiled softly. 

“Oh.” 

I sat, feeling like I had been put off balance. I tasted the omelet myself, that thing was gnarly. Suddenly I felt guilty for allowing my pride to get the better of me to the point of wasting food. I vowed from then on to think more carefully about how I would exact my revenge. 

Pulled out of my daze by the rustle of his shoulder bag, I realized Dean had gathered his things and was heading out the door. 

“See you tomorrow.” He said, sounding tired.

“See you,” I replied, quietly.

Days went by. In the morning and afternoon, we did one or two hours of therapy each. I spent the rest of the time reading or ordering Dean around the house to fetch things for me. I had him get me blankets when I was cold, sending them back five minutes later when I had magically warmed up or I decided I wanted a different one. I had him get me books to read, growing bored of them after one page. I had him drive my wheelchair around the house asking him to go faster and faster for no reason at all. And yet, he still obeyed. 

“Dean,” I called while he was cleaning up from lunch, “I’d like to go upstairs, please.”

“Sure, what do you need upstairs?”

“No,  _ I _ need to go up.”

A dish clanked in the sink, followed by Dean turning to throw the most cartoonish look of disbelief over his shoulder, damp hands on his hips. My games were finally starting to get to him.

“Yourself? You can’t be serious. Can’t I just go up there for you?”

“No, it must be me. I’d like to sketch the backyard this afternoon and the view from the ground level is boring. I need a new perspective.”

Dean sighed disparagingly, “Fine. Let me finish the dishes at least.”

I patiently waited for Dean. And by “patiently,” I mean asking him every thirty seconds whether he was done yet. Dean finally turned away from the sink, drying his hands on a towel with grim acceptance. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Dean guided me over to the center of the large staircase and turned me around so I was facing away from it. Dean stood on the first step and pulled the chair up to the very edge. 

“Okay, hold on tight. And don’t move.”

My good arm whipped to grip the armrest when he jerked the chair back so it was tipped on the back wheels. I turned to glare at him, and he wore a falsely innocent, wide-eyed look plastered on his face. If my safety were not at risk, I would definitely throw my weight back and fall onto him.

Dean took a deep breath in and breathed out as he pulled the chair up onto the first step. On every stair, he paused to step up to the next one himself. At about the tenth step he paused a little longer to take a few breaths. 

“Wow, and I thought you were in pretty good shape there, Dean. Can’t even make it up the stairs?”

Dean released a frustrated breath and grunted up the last few stairs. He panted through his nose, but we made it. He pushed me to the large window that overlooked the backyard. 

“There. How’s that?”

“Great. Now, will you go get my drawing pad and pencils? They should be on my desk.”

Dean rolled his eyes and grumbled about how I should have gotten it myself while I was waiting for him to finish with the dishes. Clearly, Dean was nearly done being polite. A few moments later, Dean returned to the bottom of the stairs empty-handed.

“Well?” He said arms spread expectantly, “Where would you like to send me next on this wild goose chase?” 

I placed my hand over my chest like a scandalized grandmother. “What are you insinuating?” 

“The book wasn’t where you said. You know exactly where it is, but you’re going to make me run back and forth a million times anyway. So, where to next?”

So that was how it was going to be. In that case… “You know, you’re right. Actually, it might be easier if I just went and got it myself. Bring me back down the stairs, won’t you?”

“What? Castiel, I really don’t care if you make me search the whole goddamn house for the book, just tell me where to look.”

“No, you’ve made it very clear you actually  _ do _ care. I’ll have to look for it myself. I’ve completely forgotten where I put it, so just come and get me.”

I smirked as Dean struggled to come up with a response. When he found none, he climbed the stairs lazily. When he reached me, he took hold of the handles and roughly allowed me to plop down the first three steps.

“Agh! Careful, you’re jostling my casts!”

Dean paused and took another steadying breath. Then with much greater effort and care, he brought me down the rest of the stairs. At the bottom, Dean bent over to catch his breath. 

“Take me to my room now, please,” I requested with exaggerated politeness.

“Can’t you get there yourself?”

“You’ve got me so well figured out, what do you think I’ll say?”

Dean didn’t even allow me to finish the sentence before he began pushing me toward my room. I didn’t even pretend to look like I was searching for the sketchbook. I pulled a key from a cubby in the desk and opened the bottom drawer with it.

“And I needed a key to get to it. Of course! Nothing can ever be easy.” Dean griped.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.”

“That’s right,” I smiled, “Back up, please.” 

We repeated the process of getting me up the stairs, but Dean had to take several breaks along the way. I sprinkled condescending encouragements throughout, which Dean seemed intent on ignoring. Finally, he turned me back to face the window at the top.

“Phew! Happy now?” He all but gasped.

“Yes, this will do just fine.” I started getting settled, flipping to an empty page and holding my pencil. Then I frowned at the pencil in my left hand. I allowed a dawning look of realization to come over me. “I’m such a fool. I can’t draw until my cast comes off; I’m right-handed.”

For a few long moments, we just stared at each other, Dean’s mouth agape and shoulders slumped. Then suddenly, he broke into a wide grin. He snorted, then threw his head back and laughed. He collapsed to the ground without warning and just kept laughing. It was the first time I’d seen him genuinely laugh. It was… something to behold.

“What the hell is so funny? Are you hysterical or something?”

Dean shook his head and when he could finally catch his breath, he smiled brilliantly at me and said, “You’re an asshole, Cas.”

My eyebrows shot up. It was the first insult he had directly given me. A tiny piece inside of me slipped into place somehow and I felt surprisingly relieved. I smiled crookedly back.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Dean couldn’t look at me or the sketchpad without cracking up. It wasn’t long before his laughter grew contagious and I started laughing quietly too. 

Both of us quieted down when Gabriel came out into the hall, probably drawn by the raucous. “Well, you two are getting along better than usual,” He gave us a suspicious look. “I also didn’t expect Cas to be upstairs at all. When did that happen?”

Dean and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and both of us were overcome by another fit of laughter. I covered my mouth and Dean guffawed with his hands over his stomach.

“Whoa, whatever weirdos,” Gabriel chuckled. “Let me know if you need anything.” He escaped back into his study, shaking his head. 

After Dean and I had finally calmed down, Dean was just a pile on the floor and I was slumped over in my chair.

“Oh God,” Dean said, “I’m beat. Are you going to make me take you down the stairs again? I think I need to rest for a few minutes before I attempt it.”

I thought about it and decided to give Dean a little break. That was a good laugh and it deserved a reward. “No, I’m good up here actually. I kind of lied.”

“About what?”

“I’m actually ambidextrous. I really would like to do some drawing from up here.”

“Really? That’s awesome. So you can draw with both hands?”

“Actually no. I draw with my left, but I write with my right. Which hand I use is sort of task-specific.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. Has it always been that way?” Dean asked.

“Pretty much.” I debated how much I actually wanted to share with him. I didn’t really feel like being a pain in the ass just then. I decided not to think about it too much and continued. “I started out writing with my left, but the teachers trained me out of that pretty young. Everything else just fell into place depending on which hand I started using naturally. In elementary, my coach always wanted me to pitch because I was a southpaw, but I used the bat right-handed.”

“Cool…” Dean replied tentatively. I think he was nervous that this sudden change in demeanor might switch back at any time. I took some enjoyment from his anxiety.

With nothing more to say at the moment, I picked up my pencil and began to draw. While it’s true I could still draw, it wasn’t the cleanest because I couldn’t steady the sketchbook with the other hand very well. I still liked it though. It was a different kind of challenge and I allowed the surface to do what it would, creating a chaotic sort of line style that was unusual for me. I tried to use the unintentional lines to my advantage. A few minutes into my drawing I noticed warmth radiating from my left. I stopped drawing and slowly turned my head. Hovering not six inches from my face, Dean was staring curiously at the page. He jumped back when he realized how close he was. 

“Uh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I uh… is it okay if I watch?” Dean asked awkwardly.

“Do what you like,” I replied, “but maybe not so close that I can feel you breathing down my neck? Not exactly conducive to peaceful drawing.”

“Right, right, my bad,” Dean raised a hand apologetically with a crooked grimace. 

I turned back to my drawing and continued. Dean remained standing slightly behind me at a reasonable distance this time. I let him watch me take my drawing from rough sketch to first draft quality, refining the edges and adding shade, depth, and light. Dean was silent the whole time, and unobtrusive. Somehow, he didn’t seem like the type who could sit still that long normally. Although, after all the running around I made him do today, I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. 

Two hours later, I had a product that was as finished as I was willing to attempt with a pencil. It wouldn’t become anything more than what it was in the moment: a practice sketch. But it was decent in my opinion. I put the pencil in the spiral binding and held it up to view my work.

“Wow, Cas. That’s friggin awesome.”

Dean had become so quiet and still, I jumped at the sound of his voice. “Thank you. It’s not a big deal.”

“I think it is. You’re very talented.” Dean argued.

“Not at all. I’ve just practiced a lot.”

Dean scoffed, “You’re just being modest.”

“Tell that to my first sketchbook. It’s just a poor tortured soul in the bottom of my drawer now.”

“Bullshit. I don’t buy it.”

“Buy it or not, it’s the truth,” I shrugged.

“Okay then, show me.” Dean challenged. He squared his shoulders and shot me a taunting grin.

“Not a chance.” I flipped my sketchbook closed defiantly. 

“Aw come on, Cas–”

My ears pricked at the nickname and I interrupted Dean, “When did you start calling me that?”

“What, ‘Cas?’ I don’t know… a little while ago? I guess it just slipped out. I can still call you Castiel if you–”

“Cas is fine. It doesn’t really matter to me.”

Dean smiled warmly. I hated that I liked it.

“Still up here, huh boys?” Gabriel announced himself. He addressed Dean then, “Looks like your day is just about up, Winchester. You know I’m not paying overtime.”

“Of course, sir.”

I sniggered and whacked Gabriel’s thigh (It was at perfect whacking height). “Pff, he called you ‘sir,’” I teased.

“Eugh, yeah, no more of that please, Dean-o. Just call me Gabe or Gabriel. I ain’t no sir.”

“Yeah, okay, Gabriel.”

“So,” my brother continued, “No major disasters week one. Will we see you Monday?” 

Dean looked at me and raised an eyebrow like he was asking my permission. It occurred to me that he probably was. I shrugged a shoulder and looked away, trying to seem indifferent.

Dean’s voice was warm and confident when he replied, “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

“Excellent.” Gabriel reached out and Dean accepted the shake. “We’ll see you then! I’ll be back to the office Monday too, now that I know you two can be civilized… Relatively speaking.”

“See you next week. Bye, Cas.” Dean smiled and waved as he backed slowly toward the stairs.

“Bye, Dean.” 

We watched Dean grab his coat and bag and leave from the second floor. I considered as he went that I had a real conversation with him today. What a novelty.

“You’re ‘Cas’ now, huh?” Gabriel asked leadingly. 

“Hmph. Yeah, so?” 

“So you like him.”

“I do  _ not _ . I’ve been harassing him all week. He’s going to be gone by next Friday.”

“You weren’t messing with him at the end there. You like him. Just a little bit.”

“Do  _ not! _ ”

“Do too.” 

“Shut up, you’re being a child.”

“Maybe I am.” Gabriel smiled at my very grown-up pout. “Hey, uh, I heard a lot of thumping out here earlier. Did Dean drag you up the stairs?”

“Yep.”

“He knows we have an elevator, right?”

I just started laughing again.

After that day, things between Dean and I were different. When he returned on Monday, I woke up early so I could greet him in the foyer, smugly accusing him of abandoning me at the top of the stairs last week.

“Oh my God, Cas, I’m such an idiot! How did you get down?” 

I promptly showed him to the small elevator, located at the end of the east hall, tucked back in a nook. It let out on the far side of Gabriel’s bedroom. I laughed as he called me an asshole again, lamenting his own ignorance. 

“How the hell did I not know that was there?”

“I’m not sure, but it made it much more fun since you didn’t.”

“Oh, I see how it is. I’m glad that my pain brings you joy.”

I continued to chuckle. “You have no idea.” 

“Okay, Giggles, the day is young, and you don’t know what I have planned for you today. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.”

I grimaced a little at that; but in my opinion, Dean’s threat was more scare tactic than anything. The day held much of the same as last week. Maybe he made me work a little harder and longer than usual, but it just felt like the natural progression more than revenge for my trickery. I still looked for ways to antagonize Dean, but he wasn’t afraid to dish it back now. He was stubborn and snarky and ridiculous. Instead of being nice to a fault, Dean was  _ real _ and it felt like such a breath of fresh air, I couldn’t help but be in a good mood.

Despite therapy not being terribly difficult, after the weekend off, I was bushed by the end of the day. Dean and I were lounging in the backyard as we often do in the afternoon, but I had given up on reading as I kept nodding off. Instead, I dozed and sipped the iced tea Dean had prepared for us at lunch. Sweetened, but not too sweet. I don’t know how you can possibly do anything to screw up sweet tea, but Dean’s was better than most. In fact, Dean was excellent at everything he did in the kitchen, even if it was mostly simple. I hummed as I took another drink.

“For a PTA,” I said with no warning, “you’re quite the chef.” 

“You don’t have to be a chef to make tea, Cas,” he said with amusement.

“No, but it’s not just the tea. Everything you make is good. Better than good.”

“I have a lot of practice.”

“So what, you’re a health scientist that cooks in his free time?”

“I guess that may be true now. It sort of arose out of necessity.” Dean replied quietly.

I turned my head to give Dean an inquisitive look, waiting for more. 

With a resigned grin, Dean confessed. “I cooked a lot for my brother, growing up. If I had my choice, it would have been burgers and mac and cheese every day. But Sam… he has a sensitive stomach and couldn’t eat certain things. I almost lost my mind when he threw up every meal for two days straight and I didn’t know what to do.” He laughed a self-deprecating laugh. 

I listened with rapt attention. This was the most intimate thing Dean had ever shared with me. If Dean was cooking for him and his brother, that meant his parents weren’t. Were they dead? Or just not around? Cas didn’t know which would be worse. 

“Anyway,” Dean continued, “I borrowed every anti-inflammatory cookbook I could find at the library, which was not many at the time, mind you. I learned how to cook everything I could for Sam. We didn’t have a lot of money to spare on mistakes, so it was not pretty to begin with,” Dean finally glanced at me from below his brow, and I smiled encouragingly, “but I got the hang of it eventually, and Sam stopped getting sick. As I grew up, I began to experiment for my own enjoyment, and it became a love of mine.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. He takes a deep breath and sits straighter. “Besides, nutrition is a primary element of wellness. It goes hand in hand with therapy.”

“Right. A professional interest first, of course,” I smirked at him. 

Dean tapped his nose and squinted at me. “Bingo.”

I snorted and looked back at the sky. “It sounds like your brother was lucky to have you.”

Dean scoffed, “Excuse me, was that a compliment I just heard?”

“No! No, I was merely making an observation–”

“A flattering observation,” Dean cajoled. 

“You know what? Forget I said anything; you’re a stain upon this earth, nothing more.”

Dean burst out laughing, throwing himself back in his chair with it.

It was getting harder and harder to hate Dean.


End file.
